


The Edge of Glory

by jennandblitz



Series: Black Glitter [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drag Origins, Drag Queen Sirius Black, Drag Queens, Drag!Sirius, Editor!Remus, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, I can't help it, It's all fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute (sort of), Sirius has a drunken bullet journal, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, because that's an aesthetic omfg, sort of nearly blowjobs, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:37:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandblitz/pseuds/jennandblitz
Summary: My gaydar better not be malfunctioning. He has to be gay. His shoulders. His eyes, his smile. Christ. I’m gonna go wank now. To him, obviously. Visions of my legs around his shoulders. It’ll keep me going for fucking months I tell you.- Sirius the Starlit Bitch reminisces on her drag beginnings and her first meeting with one Remus bloody Lupin.





	The Edge of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> theFearTakesHold asked for how Sirius got into drag, and whilst this isn't super in depth, these two are cute as all hell and I hope you love it! 
> 
> There's literally three more parts of this planned because I have ZERO self-control with these two.
> 
> A wonderful thank you to my boo [@purplechimera](https://purplechimera8.tumblr.com) for the puns and being the best idea soundboard 😘
> 
> I also made a playlist for this whole series that I cannot stop listening to, feel free to check it out for the ultimate submersion into this universe! [Black Glitter on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/user/1192704239/playlist/37KnzSBzbrS1LT7YhP1kcc?si=ma7IGlPuSoy2_TBKrwBlSw)

Sirius remembers the first time he stepped into a gay club. He was 19, it was the summer after his first year of Oxford, scrambling through a Politics degree and failing completely, and he had needed to try and reclaim something of himself, desperate to remember he wasn’t everything his parents made him.

So, alone - he and James had drifted a little after the latter moved to Brighton with Lily and Sirius had been forced bodily to Oxford - he steps into the club and looks around in wonder. It feels like home, to see everyone he wishes he has the courage to be, to see the breadth of people there, not worried by any of the outside world and just having fun being exactly themselves. It’s a concept that’s alien to him, the idea of _self_ not being inextricably tied to anything or anyone else. It feels right when he tests the idea at the edges of his mind.

By some fit of auspicious timing, the stage comes alight a moment after Sirius steps away from the bar with a vodka lemonade in hand. He watches, mouth agape as a woman prances onto the stage and addresses the crowd as if she were made to be there. No, wait, that’s not a woman, it’s a man…

Of course, he’s heard of drag, he’s heard of RuPaul, somewhere in the back of his mind, but to be confronted with it like this is overwhelming. He touches the swell of his lower lip, the vivid memory of trying on his mother’s lipstick flashing to the forefront of his memory. He remembers his tiny feet in her Louboutin’s, then again when he was older, only a few years back, feeling the swell of confidence that broke over him like the sea over a sandbank before he shoved them back into her wardrobe on the following rush of fear. Sirius shucks a hand through his hair and weaves through the crowd to come to the edge of the stage, staring up in awe, the music pumping through him, as the girls on stage dance and sing and rile the crowd into cheering.

Sirius’ heart is in his throat, he runs a hand over the sharp line of his waist, looking at the curves of the girl on stage. He imagines feeling that confidence. Sure, he’s brimming with confidence now, overflowing with it, but it’s a veneer, something artificial that always comes from external sources, first his last name, then the names he and James built for themselves at school. But to be this confident in himself? From something that came from within him, a part of him he could dredge up from where he’s stored it, remembering Chanel lipstick and Louboutin shoes?

At the end of her song, the queen saunters down the steps at the side of the stage. Struck with the need to say something to her, to convey just how much she has turned his life inside out in two and a half minutes of thinly veiled innuendo and lip-synching, Sirius turns and follows her a step. “Excuse me, um- hi-”

She turns to him, a perfectly arched eyebrow, the most wonderfully sharp line of black along her lashes, a sharp cheekbone, a full cupid’s bow. Then she blinks and it’s like she’s seeing him properly. She touches a finger to his chin, then gently tilts his face this way and that to the club lights. She smiles, cups his cheek like a mother - only Walburga never laid an affectionate hand on him - and draws him closer. “Oh honey.” She thumbs across the high point of his cheekbone before taking his hand, a wise, open smile blooming across her face. “Come to Mama, I’ll get you right.”

  


* * *

  


The first time he steps on stage he wonders if he might spontaneously combust and die out of fright and adrenaline. He feels on top of the world, heels high, corset cinched tight by Mama in the dressing room, makeup perfect. He spent hours getting it right, the shading at his cheekbone just so, the flutter of fake eyelashes, the line of his lips. Sirius feels the confidence roil forth, beneath his shaking hands and the way his calves are fucking burning in the damn shoes - how do women do it!? - but he has to smile, he’s never felt this good. He’s never felt this alive and so wonderfully right and it feels like he can take on the whole damn world. The dress is a glittering gold Diana Ross-esque number, thrown into lovely contrast by the black wig and the ivory pale of his skin. He feels like a superstar, like a model, like the most beautiful thing in the world. Sirius grins and thinks of all the times he had the word _pretty_ hurled at him in school, _pretty-boy, nancy-boy_ , oh but now.

Now pretty was a good thing, now pretty was _his_.

At his side, his drag sister Ana smiles reassuringly and squeezes his hand. Sirius stands a little straighter and smiles back. The nerves are still there, just licking at the edges of his vision, but now he feels confident - he knows the routine off by heart, there was no need to be scared. He’s only going on with Mama and the others, backing dancers to the glittering whirlwind that was his drag mother, but it’s enough.

“C’mon honey,” Mama says as she steps up and squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. She air-kisses his cheek and smiles brightly. Sirius believes it, believes the look of affection in her eyes, like she’s _proud_. “You got this, girl.”

The music flares and Sirius steps into line with his sisters. They’ve been calling him _she_ since she put on the wig - one of Mama’s old ones - and pulled on the heels - another borrowed set from Ana - but it didn’t feel right. _She_ didn’t sit right, had him worrying that maybe this wasn’t for him and all that shaving and waxing and plucking and cinching and painting and powdering was for naught. But _now?_ Now, with the music in his veins and the cheers as they take the stage, _she_ feels right.

 _She_ smiles and flaunts and prances. _She_ doesn’t flunk a single step, hits every one of them with perfect timing, pops her hip, smiles a frighteningly bright smile. Sirius finds that being on stage lets him fly free like nothing else ever has.

By the time they step into the wings he’s near screaming with excitement. He wants to grab every one of his sisters by the shoulders, pull them into a bruising hug and shout _this is me, this is it. I found it, after all this time!_

  


* * *

  


It’s 1am and Sirius is buzzing.

James is behind the bar, he’s just given Sirius another double vodka and lemonade that went straight to his head, and is now mixing cocktails with a flourish that always came naturally to him. The whole of the Golden Lion is alight. Brighton is so different to dreary Islington, the stifling trappings of the upper class society he was born into. It never fit right, like an ill-tailored jacket or a shoe the wrong size, but Brighton fits like a slipper. Brighton is like the best tailor money can buy.

He’s sad to leave the family he has in London - Mama, Ana, Peaches and the others - but Mama was right, he was ready to branch out on his own. And Brighton was the best place, reuniting with his best friend after two years, after dropping out of Oxford and running away from Grimmauld Place, finally, finally free of it all. Mama has taught him well. The first night he was on stage at the Lion was a roaring success, her particular brand of punk and pin-up went over startlingly well, just like Mama said it would. Their claps and cheers had resonated through his insides for days afterwards, pulled a grin on to his face whenever it sprang to mind.

The Lion wasn’t a success overnight, in an over-saturated market like queer clubs in Brighton, but it was a great place, the love, care and hard work of the Potter’s so easy to see in every millimetre of it. It’s so easy to see why James fit into the personality of flashy barman, and darling Lily always looked so wonderful on the stage. She’s leading karaoke for a group currently, pulling them up on stage and singing along. Brighton suits him, Sirius thinks as he weaves through the crowd, marvelling at the people there from all walks of life.

It’s only a Thursday, his night off this week from bartending there with James, and he’s here anyway, sipping his drink. He thinks of his diary, the frantic scribblings of his past-self as he came home from the nightclub that first night, meeting Mama, feeling the world blown wide open, and smiles. _Oh, darling, if you could see me now._

Sirius weaves through the crowd, wiggling his hips to the songs. It doesn’t matter he doesn’t really know anyone, it feels like this whole place is his living room and sooner or later he’ll make his way around everyone. Confidence in himself, in _her_ , is easier now, it’s easier to have fun and let go and just _be_. One or two people pick him out of the crowd, smiling and nodding at the familiar face even though he’s out of drag tonight, in a leather jacket and jeans, bare faced except a little eyeliner. But it’s flattering and encouraging nonetheless. He finds a table by the edge of the stage, ready to meet Lily once she’s done her hosting duties, as she promised to introduce him to some people.

He’s happy to watch the crowd, sip his drink, daydream about how wonderful this all could be, to feel so at home. The lights are flickering, shining across the crowd as the karaoke pelts through the room. _Thank God for autotune_. At least when he sings it’s in tune, bright and airy, the musicality beaten into him as a child finally used for something that would make his real mother scream.

Just then, it feels like the crowd parts, just a little perhaps, and he’s gifted with the glimpse of an angel. Oh, and the lights shine just so off his hair, the dirty middle of brown and blonde, the waves of it above the collar of his white shirt. Bugger me sideways, Sirius nearly chokes on his drink, he’s so fucking gorgeous. And God, he hopes his gaydar isn’t wrong, because it’s flashing a million miles a minute at this wonderful man, all long lean lines and a sharp jawline. After a moment, the man turns, steps to allow someone past him, and glances up through the crowd. Right at Sirius.

Sirius smiles, his heart stuttering in his throat. He tries to make it a wonderfully slow smile, a _come over and say hi_ smile, but it probably comes off as _deer in the headlights_. But the grin the man gives back? Oh it’s everything a grin should be, a syrup-soft, hot at the edges smile that cuts through the crowd.

Then it’s gone, someone taps the man on the arm to draw his attention, and he looks away. Sirius lets out a shaky breath and takes a mouthful of his drink to try and calm the nerves. He hasn’t felt nerves since his first night at the wings of a stage but he feels shaken by the sight of that angel.

  


* * *

  


_Oh, darling, if you could see me now_.

Sirius laughs at the old journal, flipping forward a few pages. He thought the date was familiar, somewhere in the back of his head when he’d woken up this morning to the sound of the shower running next door and rolled over to see the date on the clock. It was a good job he kept a journal, a wonderful cacophony of to-do lists, wish-lists and rants about his days. The one from this time two years ago is perfect, and he was right, today was two years since he laid eyes on one Remus bloody Lupin.

 _He’s gorgeous -_ it reads - _but some fucking bitch just came up to ask him to dANCE? I mean. Honey, he GAY. He is G. A. Y. I stg. So she can back off, he likes cock. He’s got to. I’ll die if he doesn’t. My gaydar better not be malfunctioning. He has to be gay. His shoulders. His eyes, his smile. Christ. I’m gonna go wank now. To him, obviously. Visions of my legs around his shoulders. It’ll keep me going for fucking months I tell you._

Flip forward a few more pages, through a to-do list of - hassle Marlene for a new dress - wax legs (accompanied by a few poorly drawn screaming emojis) - and buy new Lorde album - Sirius finds another rant of a night at the Lion.

 _I SAW HIM AGAIN! Lils says his name is Remus Lupin. He works for a magazine. He’s beautiful still. Danced with another woman. I stg. Please, please universe, if you are out there, make him gay. I will take the cosmic debt of a million horrific bastards if it means I have a chance of going to bed with that God of a man. It’s non-negotiable, universe -_ here the page is marred by what looks like a spill of red wine and a doodle of a piece of cake. Sirius remembers a lot of his journalling was done mildly tipsy, at 3am after leaving the Lion. _As above, will do anything you require of me. I need him to be gay, or bi, or something that means he’ll look at me twice. ANYTHING. Any. Thing. If my gaydar is broken I’m going to give up and move to Norway or something._

The to-do list underneath is amended to add - buy every fucking back issue ever of _Wolf Pack_.

Another note, beneath a few hurried sketches of dresses that he and Dorcas hashed out in a Costa Coffee halfway between his flat and her haberdashery, inspired by the Oscars the night before and wanting to make something truly beautiful.

_Performed tonight. Was a great performance, everyone loved it. Sang ABBA and Scissor Sisters. I saw Remus Lupin in the crowd, he smiled. I reckon he’s a Madonna fan by the way he was dancing, but gURL. Those hips don’t lie. Also, confirmed. Wolf Pack is the queerest mag. He has to be gay. It’s false advertising if not._

Sirius laughs, tracing the words on the page. He could see himself, curled up in his bed at his old flat, some pen he got free somewhere clutched in his hand, scrawling intently and begging the universe to make his crush open to his advances. Listening to Remus in the kitchen, the radio on in the early morning, the smell of tea and toast wafting through the house, Sirius flicks forward a handful of pages to find the date he was looking for. Ah, there is it, a missing chunk of four days.

 _It’s Wednesday. Saturday night after the competition, I went back to Remus Lupin’s house and we fucked on his dining room table. Then later on the floor, in the bedroom, several times. Lots of times. Too many times to count. He called in sick Monday and Tuesday, we stayed in bed, talked, made out like teenagers. He likes me. Has done for a while. He said he wasn’t sure about making the first move (!?) but then I won the competition. Oh. Yeah. I WON!? I FUCKING WON!? But more importantly, I won Remus. He said I should come over tomorrow night after he’s done work but I’m at the Lion for a shift, maybe I’ll see if James can swap me with someone else. I’m on Cloud 9 right now. Did I mention the fucking? It was great. Like, amazing. Hoooo boy, the fucking. The. Fucking._ (Those last two words are underlined so much the page appears to have ripped.)

It’s good to see some things don’t change, Sirius thought as he stowed the diary back in the bottom of his drawer, along with the handful of others he’d filled over the years and kept for purely sentimental reasons. It seemed worth devoting a tiny portion of his wardrobe space to store them though, when gifted with wonderful moments like that. Sirius stands up and stretches. It’s lucky he woke up early enough, with a strange start at the date, because now he can catch Remus before he goes to work, maybe if he’s got long enough before he has to leave, Sirius can give him a pseudo-anniversary present.

Ducking out of the bedroom, still in a loose pair of sweatpants that hang dangerously from the jut of his hips, Sirius pads into the kitchen to see Remus at the table - Jesus wept that table, so many memories - his phone at his ear, a cup of tea in his hand.

Remus smiles when he sees Sirius, a genuine smile that rises to his eyes, and he puts his hand over his phone to meet him in a sweet kiss. He nudges his nose against Sirius’ before he pulls back with an apologetic look. “I have to take this,” he mouths before turning back to his phone.

Sirius nods back, strolling to the kettle to see Remus has already set him a cup of Earl Grey stewing. He flashes his boyfriend a grateful look as he fishes the tea bag out and adds a splash of milk, before sliding into the seat opposite him. He snags a piece of notepaper from the pile on the table and plucks the pen from behind Remus’ ear with a soft touch to his temple on the way.

_Know what today is?_

He slides the note over to Remus, who quickly reads it and quirks a curious eyebrow. Sirius can tell he’s rapidly scanning the stores of information in his mind, that wonderful repository of every fact they’ve ever discussed, every little bit of information Sirius holds dear is there in Remus’ brain too, tucked away for the sweetest moments. “No?” he mouths before making a noise of assent to the person at the other end of the phone.

Sirius pulled the note back towards him with a widening smile and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear before putting pen to paper again.

_Two years since we first locked eyes in the Lion._

He draws a heart next to it and watches with glittering eyes as Remus’ chocolate ones skim over the page once again until his face blooming into a beautiful smile, so genuinely taken aback. He looks up at Sirius with those wonderfully heated eyes, that look that ricochets like lightning through him and Sirius smiles right back, blowing him a quick kiss. As he rises to go and get dressed for the day, Remus stops him with a brief touch to his wrist.

“Hold on,” He says into the phone whilst staring at Sirius, who skirts around the table towards him, Remus’ fingers still looped around his wrist. “I just have to take another call Molly, give me thirty seconds, I’ll just put you on hold?” He tosses the phone down on the table after muting the call and smiles at Sirius, sliding a hand up his arm to cup the angle of his jaw. “C’mere, baby.”

Of course, of course Sirius goes, sinking into Remus’ lap as he pushes his chair back from the table. He kisses the corner of his mouth and runs an affectionate fingertip over the arch of his eyebrow.

“You remember the date?” Remus presses a kiss to the tip of his nose and winds an arm around his waist to pull him into the stability of his body.

“Mhmm,” Sirius murmurs as he nudges closer, mouthing over the patch of stubble at Remus’ jaw, the heady warmth of his skin under his tongue. His eyes close at the sweetness of it all as he wraps an arm around his shoulders. “I knew you were perfect even back then. I’m so lucky.” Sirius scrapes his teeth over the angle of his jaw, a sharp contrast to the syrup of his words, and nips at Remus’ earlobe.

Remus shucks a wave of hair from Sirius’ bare shoulder, his other hand sliding down the curve of his waist, to draw him closer and mouth at the bite mark still left from the night before. The purple shape of Remus’ teeth sits over the ball of his shoulder, a brand of his affection, the way he has twisted into Sirius and wound them both together into one being. Sirius nuzzles down the tender skin of his neck as Remus traces the pattern of his bite with the tip of his tongue. “It took us so long. But I’ve got you now, love. I’m not letting go.” He twines his fingers through the mass of hair at the back of Sirius’ head and tugs softly to bare his throat. Sirius sinks into it and whimpers softly, his eyes shuttering against the shot of pleasure.

“No fair, Rem. Don’t do that unless you want to follow through,” Sirius hisses, not a hint of malice in his voice as he shifts and his heated blood rushes south.

Remus chuckles his wonderfully dark chuckle. The one that slips from his mouth right before he winds his fingers through Sirius’ hair and pulls him to his knees in the kitchen after they’ve been trading barbs. The one he gives when, on a lazy Sunday morning, Sirius sneaks up on him in the shower and presses him against the tiles to kiss down the pathway of his spine. The one Sirius hears, blurred through the fog of desire when he’s face down on the table and pushing his hips back towards Remus, teeth bared on his lower lip. “Who says I’m not going to, baby?”

“You’re still on the phone to Molly,” Sirius shoots back, turning a little to trace one finger down the buttons of Remus’ shirt towards the waistband of his trousers.

Remus quirks an eyebrow and snatches his phone up from the table again, pressing it to his other ear. Sirius shifts to lick a stripe up the other side of his neck, nuzzling the collar of his shirt out of the way. “Hi, Molly, sorry about that. Listen, something’s come up.”

Something certainly has come up, Sirius thinks as he presses the heel of his palm against his erection. He’s already more than half-hard, and by the way Remus’ hips are canted forward a little, it looks like he might be too. Remus grins his fiery grin that says he knows just what he’s saying. He’s too clever not to choose every word perfectly.

“Mhmm, I know. Yeah, cancel all of it, for today. Look, I don’t want to come off as cocky, but I think we can manage something, don’t you?” Remus is staring right at him as he says it, the phone in the crook of his neck so he can have one hand in Sirius’ hair, and the other with fingers circling innocently on his waist. He’s lounging back in his chair with a veneer of insouciance over the tightly coiled spring of his body that makes Sirius want to decimate the world for the ability to take him apart piece by piece. Sirius sits back on his lap, a knee either side of his thighs, back against the table, Remus’ fingers loosening on his hair to allow it, and runs a hand down Remus’ stomach, tracing a finger over the hard line of his cock. He quirks an eyebrow as Remus bites his lip and gives him a sharp warning look and an even sharper tug to his hair.

Sirius shrugs off the warning, though the pull at his hair makes him flush red and nearly moan with the headiness of it. He bites his own lip as he undoes the top button of Remus’ shirt and leans back in to kiss the hollow of his throat. Remus’ hand slides appreciatively down from his waist to his hip and just tantalisingly under the waistband of his sweatpants. His voice is torturously even and measured as he speaks to Molly. “I know things are difficult when I’m not in the office, but I find the best way to deal with something hard is to just face it head on.”

Sirius swallows back a snort of laughter and presses forward, fingers ghosting over Remus’ belt buckle and delighting at the way his hips buck. Sirius watches his throat bob with a swallow and scrapes his teeth across it. Remus slides his fingers around Sirius’ hip to his lower back and Sirius instinctively pushes back into his hand.

Remus grins, slow and sharp, his eyes lighting. “I can’t put it off any longer Mol, really. This problem just really needs seeing to,” he says as he brings the flat of his palm onto Sirius’ arse cheek in a slap that rings through the flat and is most definitely heard by Molly.

Sirius’ hand flies to his own mouth to muffle the gasp-turned-moan that riots out of his lips with the force of a freight train. Remus raises an eyebrow in response, his hand still in Sirius’ hair twisting a little so it feels like his whole body is alight with _Remus._ “Hang up already,” he all but moans, not caring if Molly can hear as Remus pulls taut on his hair and forces his head back.

“Mhmm, bye Molly, see you tomorrow.” Remus throws his phone onto the desk with a clatter and turns back to look at Sirius. “You are awful.”

“You love awful, darling,” Sirius purrs as he deftly undoes Remus’ belt buckle and slides to his knees between his boyfriend’s legs. “Let me make it up to you?”


End file.
